


Ask Box Ficlets

by ArgylePirateWD



Series: Tumblr Fic [1]
Category: Forever (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, Gen, M/M, Temporary Character Death, Tumblr Ask Box Fic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-01-28
Updated: 2015-08-18
Packaged: 2018-03-09 10:37:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 12,151
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3246515
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ArgylePirateWD/pseuds/ArgylePirateWD
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An assortment of Forever ficlets, all written for prompts on Tumblr.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**For:** maxisthenewalex  
 **Prompt:** Henry/Jo, softball team AU :)

"You’re kind of weird," Jo said, making sure that creepy British nerd who kept coming by during practice didn’t miss the bat in her hand.

"I know," he said, glancing up from his notebook with an apologetic and—dare she think it— _sweet_ smile, “and I am sorry. But I was wondering if you’d be willing to explain how exactly this ‘softball’ game works?”

* * *

 **For:** bearholdingashark  
 **Prompt:** For the AU ask meme: Mortinez, road trip AU

As they passed through the seemingly infinite desert, Henry kept talking, telling her detail after detail about the plant life, the rocks and the sand, the history of the area, and all the most obscure facts that Jo never would’ve imagined anyone could hold in their head.

"Okay, not that I’m saying this stuff’s boring or anything," she said, "but, seriously, Henry, how are you not boring me to tears right now?"

With a soft laugh, he replied, “Because I’ve had plenty of time to learn how to pretend to be interesting.”

* * *

 **For:** cytoplasmridiculum  
 **Prompt:** AU of Henry and Jo: one of them is royalty and the other is a servent

They’d hanged her Henry at dawn, as promised, and disposed of him like garbage, not even caring when someone lost his body. “No need to concern yourself, Princess Jo,” they’d told her, brushing off her fury with condescending smirks. “That wretched servant will disturb you no longer.”

"I will avenge your death, Henry," Jo vowed that evening, tracing the thin edge of a pilfered dagger with a cautious finger, "and they will never see me coming."

"There is no need for revenge, your highness," a familiar voice called from her balcony.

The blade fell to the floor, and she stared at the man behind her, gaping. “You— _Henry!_ ”

"I told you," Henry said, with a smile, and extended a hand, "death would not part us for long. Come with me?"

* * *

 **For:** Anonymous  
 **Prompt:** Abe and Jo talk about Henry's taste in music ( he forced her to listen to Bach in her car when they were on their way to investigate a crime scene ).a funny, nice prompt plz?

"I know how you feel. I had to drive him around for five hours once, and he made me play that stuff? I swear, I thought I was gonna fall asleep at the wheel after a good night’s sleep and three cups of coffee," Abe groused, and drank another gulp of wine, "and that was in the first thirty minutes!"

Jo laughed. “Has he always been like this?”

"Need I remind you, I am sitting right here?"

"He was born an old man," Abe said, completely ignoring Henry. "So, pretty much, yeah."

* * *

 **For:** projectssss  
 **Prompt:** Henry shows Jo his secret sword collection.

"Never figured you for a weapons guy, Henry," Jo said, lifting one of the antique swords. "I don’t know much about these things," she went on, testing the smooth, balanced weight of the sharp blade, admiring how the hilt seemed to belong in her hand, "but these all look pretty nice."

With a wry grin, he asked, “If I told you someone else has stabbed me with each of them at least once, would you believe me?” but he didn’t quite sound like he was joking.

No, of course he was joking. “You have _such_ a weird sense of humor.”

* * *

 **For:** Anonymous  
 **Prompt:** Henry discovers what dubstep is.

"Dear God," Henry yelled, knowing he’d probably never be heard over the pounding bass and the horrendous _noise,_ “what is this abominable sound?”

"What’s the matter, Henry?" Jo shouted back, deftly weaving her way through the mass of bodies writhing suggestively against one another as they headed toward their suspect at the bar. "Never heard of dubstep before?"

"Dub—what? Is this supposed to be music?" Grimacing, he shook his head. "No, nevermind. I think I’m going to bow out on this one before I suffer a migraine or a massive aneurysm."

"You’ve made it this far," she said, showing the bartender her badge. "You’ll live."

"That’s what I’m afraid of."


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Few crossovers in this bunch.

**For:** Anonymous  
 **Prompt:** mortinez in jurassic park

"I told everybody that this was a bad idea," Morgan said, pulling himself onto the shore. "Eaten by a _Tyrannosaurus rex_. That’s definitely a new one.”

"But you—" The paleontologist—Martinez?—seemed lost for words, but quickly regained her composure. "Okay, so you’re _not_ dead, somehow,” she said, “but why are you naked?”

"That’s chaos theory in action for you." In the distance, something let out an unearthly, horrifying shriek, and Morgan heaved himself upright. "I’ll tell you more later. Now, can we please leave? It probably doesn’t matter all that much, but I don’t want to be nude when the raptors find us."

* * *

**For:** catladylexi  
 **Prompt:** Lucas and Henry - sit next to each other in orchestra AU

If Lucas hit the wrong note one more time, Henry was positive his own jaw would snap and his teeth would collapse into dust from all the grinding he’d been doing. “No, no, Lucas,” Henry said, massaging the bridge of his nose in a futile attempt to stave off the ghastly headache building inside his skull. “You’re doing it wrong. Again.”

"Sorry," Lucas said, and he did sound sorry, dammit. "Again. Maybe this whole music major thing really isn’t for me after all. I knew I should’ve stuck to film."

Except clearly Lucas had done _something_ right, in order to get into the orchestra in the first place. With a sigh, Henry reminded himself for the thousandth time that none of his peers also secretly had centuries of practice under their belts, and he patted Lucas on the back and forced a smile. He’d be damned if he’d be the one who crushed someone else’s enthusiastic thirst for learning. “No harm done. Would you like me to help teach you?”

* * *

**For:** cytoplasmridiculum  
 **Prompt:** AU: Abigail is immortal and Henry is a normal doctor

"If you only _think_ you love me because my condition is fascinating to you, or because I am one of your experiments,” she said, carrying her suitcase to the door, “Henry, I need to know now.”

"Oh, sweetheart, no." Henry pushed himself to his feet, and Abigail tried not to wince at the sound of his popping joints or his shuffling steps. "That is not it at all."

He stroked her cheek, and she leaned into his touch, her eyes fluttering closed. Damn the man—Henry Morgan would always be her weakness.

"You are absolutely remarkable," Henry went on, and took her suitcase from her unresisting hand. "But your immortality is low on the list of reasons why I _know_ I love you. My dear Abigail, please look at me.” And she did, looked into dark, sincere eyes that she couldn’t help but trust. “I just want more time with you.” He smiled. “And I think I might have found a way to get it.”

"You say that every time."

"I know." He kissed her. "But this time, I am not wrong."

She didn’t point out that he said that every time, too.

* * *

**For:** Anonymous  
 **Prompt:** Castle/Beckett  & Henry/Jo solving a crime at a carnival 

"Castle, stop pointing." Kate swatted his outstretched arm, and ignored his affronted yelp. "This isn’t my jurisdiction."

"I know, but it’s a murder at a _carnival!_ How much cooler can you get?”

Dammit, he was already headed over there, looking as giddy as a kid running to a sick and twisted candy shop. She swore and hurried after him, and grabbed onto his jacket as soon as she could reach it. “Seriously, Castle—this might not even be a murder.”

No sooner than she said that, the man kneeling beside the body—probably the ME, Kate guessed—declared, in an English accent, “This man was murdered.”

"I knew it!" Castle crowed. "Come on, Kate—you know this is gonna be a good one!"

Suppressing a frustrated growl, Kate went ahead and pulled her badge from her purse. No getting out of this now, dammit. “Okay, but don’t interfere, and follow their rules, understood?”

"Told you." Near the body, a female detective held out her hand, and a male one heaved a dramatic sigh and started digging in his pocket. "Pay up."

Castle nodded. “Understood.”

"Betting on a man’s death, Detective?" the ME asked, seemingly amused. "I should probably chastise you for that, but…" He pulled a pair of poker chips from the victim’s pocket. "Somehow, I doubt that this gentleman would mind."

"Gambling debt, I bet," Castle said, then laughed, unaware that everyone had turned toward him. "Debt, bet? See, I’m a poet!"

Kate rolled her eyes, then held up her badge and introduced herself.

* * *

**For:** Anonymous  
 **Prompt:** AU where Mortinez is canon

"So." God, Hanson looked uncomfortable, shifting awkwardly from foot to foot as he watched Henry walk away. "You and Henry, huh?"

Jo smirked. “Me and Henry what?”

"You guys are—" Hanson waved vaguely between Jo and the door. It was kind of funny how he couldn’t quite make himself say it, actually.

"A detective and an ME?"

Hanson huffed. “Come on, Jo—you know what I’m talking about.”

With a sweet smile, Jo said, “Not a clue, Mike. Fill me in?”

Throwing up his hands, Hanson cursed the sky and said, in a long-suffering voice,  “What did I do to have to deal with these people, huh? What did I ever do to you?”

Finally, Jo broke down in laughter. “Oh my God. You are _terrible_. Yes, that kiss was real. Yes, Henry and I are together, a thing, a couple, a…whatever now. Yes, we love each other.” She shook her head, amused. “Sheesh. You’d think a guy with a wife and kids would know how to come right out and say, ‘You guys are together, right?’”

"Yeah, yeah, laugh all you want," Hanson grumbled. "He may be smart, sure, but don’t come cryin’ to me when he starts forgetting anniversaries and birthdays and stuff like the rest of us guys."

"Henry Morgan? Forget something?" Jo laughed. "Not a chance."

* * *

**For:** Anonymous  
 **Prompt:** Henry Morgan goes to Night Vale

A new man arrived in our lovely community today, listeners. Apparently, this man spontaneously appeared in the middle of the Night Vale Harbor and Waterfront Recreation Area _that never existed_ sometime this morning. Witnesses described him with adjectives such as “charming,” “young-looking, but impossibly _old_ ,” “handsome,” “with eyes and hair like fine chocolate, _God_ , I could literally eat him up,”—and I believe they truly meant “literally” here, listeners—“some pasty Brit who needs to shave,” “intelligent,” “ _weird_ ,” and “completely naked.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Still glad to accept prompts [in my ask box.](http://argylepiratewd.tumblr.com/ask)


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> They keep getting longer and longer...

**For:** truthisademurelady  
 **Prompt:** Jo and Hanson, regency drama AU

"Pardon me, sir," Hanson said, bumping into the young gentleman, then stopped short. No, not a young man—a young lady. "Miss. What are you doing here?"

Of course she had returned, as curious about the death as him. And, he had to give her credit—had he not literally run into her on the stairs, he never would have guessed her for a woman. Up close, however, one could tell almost instantly, and having met her before, he knew for certain as soon as he saw her face. No, he never forgot a face. “This is no place for a lady, Miss Martinez, and I am certain you do not have permission to be here.”

"I am certain you do not, either." She tilted her head, eying Hanson in the near darkness. "What would you do if something were to happen to your beloved before you were wed? Would you not want to find out everything?"

The woman had guessed correctly. He sighed. “Of course. I would wish to know. Now, would you be kind enough to tell me what you believe happened?”

* * *

**For:** bearholdingashark  
 **Prompt:** Hanson  & Henry, feel good sports movie AU

"You, Henry Morgan," Mike said, grabbing Henry in a rough, sideways hug and waving a paper in his face, "are _the man!_ ”

Henry let out a sigh and tried to read the sheet of paper before him. He caught the word “chemistry” near the top, near the messy scrawl of “Mike Hanson,” and guessed, “You passed your exam, I take it?”

"Passed it? No, no, no— _look!_ " Finally, he held the paper still, allowing Henry to read it. In bright red ink, Ms. Reece had written "98" and "Good job."

Henry grinned. “You aced it?”

"Oh yeah." Mike let Henry go and slid away for a ridiculous victory dance in the middle of the crowded hall. The other students moved aside, some laughing or stopping for a quick high-five with the giddy quarterback, others…not so much.

Mike nearly knocked Lucas Wahl’s books from his hands, but didn’t even notice. Henry mouthed, “Sorry,” to the awkward freshman, and made a mental note he hoped to forget to ask Lucas to show him those self-made films no one ever wanted to see as an apology. Then, to Mike, he said, “You _do_ realize that people are trying to get to class, yes? That _we_ should both be heading to class?”

"Yeah, yeah, whatever—but do you know what _this_ means?” Mike thrust the paper in Henry’s face again. “It means I might make more of these. And if I make more of these, know what happens?”

"You get to keep playing."

"I get to keep playing!" Mike clapped Henry on the back. "Thanks, man. You’re the best." He started to walk away, and Henry prepared to breathe a sigh of relief, but before he could even inhale, Mike stepped back and asked, "Seven o’clock still good for you? Mom said I should make sure again, ‘cause it’s getting dark by then and all now, so."

"Seven, eight, midnight." Henry shrugged. "Go ahead and stop by. I have plenty of time."

* * *

**For:** anonymous  
 **Prompt:**  AU where Henry is Jo's guardian angel.He is in love with her but can't t make her see him because it's something angels can do only for very special reasons. And love isn't one of them.

Once again, Jo Martinez has survived.

She’s become a remarkable woman. Life has not been kind to her, but she has handled it well, has carried her burdens with the sort of strength and grace that others envy. She hardly needs him anymore, but unlike some, Henry is the type of guardian that keeps watch over most of their charges until the end.

"Overprotective," some say, and he agrees, but always retorts, "I like to be thorough," instead. Most of them know his story, know what happens when he fails.

They don’t know what happens when he _feels_.

Angels don’t feel love. General love, yes, but not the kind that makes hearts skip beats, that’s spawned countless lines of poetry and will spawn countless more, that consumes them like a conflagration and leaves many scars behind. Romance is a foreign concept. Of _course_ they love their charges—they’re supposed to love them, so they do, because that’s how their existence works.

This isn’t mere love for an assigned charge. This is bigger, something that fills him with so much joy and agony that he cannot describe it, can barely contain it. He knows love, but this is more, this is _Jo_.

Sometimes, he believes she can see him. Wishful thinking, he knows—humans cannot see them unless they absolutely need to, unless there is no other choice but to reveal oneself to protect one’s charge. “Love” is not enough. Angels are meant to feel love. But sometimes Jo looks in his direction and tilts her head curiously, like she knows something is there. She did it more often as a child, but as he became less necessary, her perception of him faded.

One time, Mike Hanson asked her, “You believe in guardian angels?”

For a second, she glanced toward Henry, then shrugged and said, “Nah. Not really,” and the subject hadn’t come up again since.

But much later, as she lies on a gurney, scratched up and bruised from the wreck but _alive_ , she turns toward Henry and smiles. She knows. And, in that instant, he knows, too—knows that he would Fall for her, would damn the consequences and reveal himself to be with her. Not yet. Not tonight. Soon, though. Soon, he will do it.

Is that what humans mean by “falling” in love?

* * *

**For:** anonymous  
 **Prompt:** jo and henry as spies

Jo saw him almost everywhere, from the darkest corners of the seediest bars to dining alongside her at a table filled with royalty. At first, she’d thought it a coincidence—maybe he had one of those faces, the kind you see in every crowd, common among smarmy douchebags with permanent smirks. Cookie-cutter creeps, made to order.

Nope, she concluded, as he _smirked_ at her from behind designer glasses and floppy blond hair. Same guy, every time.

Jo excused herself from her conversation, and she crossed the room to talk to her handler.

"Pretty sure I’m being followed," she said, linking arms with Mike. He hummed, questioning, and Jo explained, "Not just here. See that guy over there? Blond wig, glasses, attitude—wherever I go lately, he’s always there."

"Really?" That got Mike’s attention. He took a long look at the man, trying to be surreptitious, then swore quietly. "Jesus Christ, that’s Henry Morgan."

Jo’s stomach sank, cold, heavy dread replacing her insides. Last time Mike spoke about anyone with that tone, the guy he’d been talking about killed Sean less than a week later. Schooling her face to hide her feelings, she asked, “Who’s Henry Morgan?”

Mike’s jaw dropped. “Who’s Henry Morgan—seriously? Don’t they teach you new kids anything anymore? He’s a legend, he’s—” Across the room, the man—Henry Morgan, apparently—eyed them curiously, and Mike shook his head, “Nevermind. This is a bad place for this conversation.”

"Should I be worried?"

Mike considered it for a moment. “I don’t know. He’s usually on our side, I hear, but you never know…anyway. He’s not our assignment, and the guy’s probably got ears all over this place. Let’s discuss this later, yeah? I’ve still got some mingling to do.”

"Yeah, so do I," she said, untangling her arm from Mike’s. "See you later?"

"Yep. Oh, hey." Mike lightly grabbed her wrist, and she turned back to him. "Stay focused on the mission—I mean it. Don’t take any chances with Morgan. He’s got stuff goin’ on that’s more classified than classified. Let Reece handle him, okay? She’s more qualified than we are."

"Will do. Thanks." Jo pulled away, and she slipped back into the crowd, grabbing a glass of champagne from a passing waiter, just for show. "First thing on the agenda," she said to herself, and locked eyes with Morgan. He nodded, giving her a polite smile, and she raised her glass to her lips and pretended to take a sip. "Is talking to this Morgan guy."

Screw what Mike said. Reece wasn’t the one Henry Morgan kept following around, and unlike Reece, Jo had nothing left to lose.

* * *

**For:** anonymous  
 **Prompt:** jo teaching henry the electric slide, or some other popular dance

"Wait, seriously? You’ve never heard of the Macarena?"

Inside, Henry cringed. This was not going to end in any sort of dignified manner, was it? “No,” he replied, slowly, hoping to delay the inevitable. “I can’t say that I have.”

Jo put her hands on her hips and repeated, “Seriously,” then shook her head in dismay. “Oh my God, Henry. Like, I kind of get not knowing about some stuff from the 80’s, ‘cause you were just a kid back then, right? But the _90’s?_ ”

With a shrug, Henry replied, “I guess I was just never exposed to that sort of thing.”

Jo gaped at him for a moment, then, with a determined look, she pulled her phone from her pocket and started scrolling through it. “Okay, seriously, there is going to be a mission to teach you—found it; bought it—all these things you somehow missed.”

Henry let out a small chuckle. “That won’t be necessary, I—”

She held up a hand. “Don’t make me drag Lucas into this.”

"You _wouldn’t_.”

"I totally, totally would." Jo tapped her phone a few more times, and lively, somewhat annoying music began to play. "Now watch me."

Henry did what he was told, and bit his tongue to keep from commenting. There was no artistic merit in the song, no real skill necessary to copy the moves. If you could keep time with the music—or paid attention to someone who could—you could easily mimic each motion.

From an ocean away, Henry could practically hear his old dance instructor’s bones spinning furiously in the grave.

"Copy me."

Henry winced. “I’d rather not.”

Jo crossed her arms. “Henry, get your ass over here and copy me.”

"Jo, I—"

Jo pretended to dial a telephone number, and she held her hand to her ear. “Hello, Lucas? This is Detective Martinez. I need you to do me a favor, and it involves Dr. Mor—”

"All right, _fine_ ,” Henry said, and pushed away from the table. No, he simply could not give Jo an excuse to make that call. “I don’t want to have to hear Lucas humming this song for a week or something, so.” He waved a hand. “Let’s get on with it, shall we?”

"Wow, Henry," she said, voice dry. "It’s a dance, not a firing squad or something. It’s not gonna kill you."

"It might. Even small instances of unusual physical activity can trigger an undiagnosed health condition. I’d rather not take any chances."

"Seriously?" Jo laughed and shook her head. "You never cease to amaze me."

With feigned sincerity, he said, “Thank you kindly, Detective.”

"Yeah, no, that wasn’t a compliment."

"I know."


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one gets its own chapter, since it ended up a bit long-ish.
> 
> Warning for some gun violence

**For:** bearholdingashark  
 **Prompt:** Henry/Abigail, FBI AU

"So," Abigail began, as she checked the locks on the windows and pulled the blinds closed, "I’m guessing Agent Reece was pretty mad at you, wasn’t she?"

Henry laughed, and took a sip of his tea. “You have no idea.” He glanced around Abigail’s tiny apartment, taking note of the small but open kitchen, the open laptop on her coffee table, the airy blue curtains hanging from a wall to a tall but narrow bookcase, the twin-sized bed tucked away behind them. The whole space was tidy and full of light, soft colors, with classy floral patterns on scattered objects throughout the room, but yet it was sparse—nothing like his own dark, cluttered home. “This is a lovely place.”

With a shy smile, she said, “Thank you,” and she checked the chain on her door one last time, then sat beside him on the couch. “It’s not much, but it’s mine.”

"Not very many places to hide, though," he mused.

"No," she agreed, then reached beneath the coffee table. "But…where is it…there." Henry heard a small click, and Abigail pulled out a small knife and handed it to him. "There are plenty of places to hide a few weapons."

She briefed him on where they were, telling him where to find knives and some handguns that she’d stashed away for protection. “Also,” she added, “there may not be anywhere for us to hide, but there’s not anywhere for anyone else to hide, either. And it should be easy for me to tell if you’ve snuck out or not.” She tilted her head curiously. “Why did you do that? You gave everyone quite a fright.”

Henry grimaced. That. Yes. He’d hoped to avoid that. “I had a theory,” he said.

"A theory," she said, dryly. "That couldn’t have waited until morning?"

No, it couldn’t have. He’d needed a better idea of who—or what—they were dealing with, and he’d gotten it. Along with another death to add to his record, he had indeed met another person like him. How to convey the true danger of the man they were dealing with without landing in another asylum, well…that was a mystery he had yet to solve.

He sighed. “I’m not used to having people care about me or my whereabouts. When I’m not working, I can go wherever I please, do whatever I please, chase down any hare-brained theory—”

"We deal with some of the most disturbing, gruesome cases there are. If we didn’t care about each other when we’re not chasing these people…I shudder to think of what we might be like."

"I know," Henry said. "And I know that this job has driven other agents to madness before. But—"

"But think of this like being on the clock. Don’t think of this like—I don’t know—being ‘imprisoned’ in somebody’s home because one of our unsubs began stalking you. Think of it as watching and waiting for a violent serial killer to make the wrong move."

Henry considered this for a moment. Yes, that sounded reasonable. “You’re very clever. You know that, yes?”

"Well, I’m no genius," she teased, giving him a pointed look, "but I am intelligent. And I do understand people on an emotional level better than a certain genius I know."

He nodded. “That’s why you’re an incredible profiler. You understand people on an emotional level.”

She smiled at him again, gentle and affectionate, and how much he wanted her to do it again, always, caught him by surprise. He recognized this feeling, this warm glow of an emotion too difficult to capture in mere words, this painful fondness threatening to burst within his chest. Months of teamwork, months of sitting side-by-side on planes and chatting amicably, months of shared meals, months of friendship—they’d all turned into this, something he hadn’t felt in nearly a hundred years.

God, they’d been dating, hadn’t they? Henry didn’t want to be friends with Abigail any longer. He loved her.

"And it’s also how I know you’re hiding something." She leaned forward and looked him in the eyes, and he wished he didn’t know which secret she meant. "You know you can tell me anything, don’t you?"

"Abigail…" He sighed. "Not this time."

"Oh." She looked disappointed, then her lips quirked with amusement. "Is it classified?"

That would have been an easy out, but Henry didn’t take it. “It’s complicated.” Truth be told, he wanted to tell her—no, needed to tell her—but the last time he’d shared his secret with anyone besides his son, it had hurt far more than it had helped. “I’m sorry, Abigail. I can’t—not yet. I don’t think I’m ready.”

"Well, when you are ready, then." She reached over and squeezed his hand. "You are as terrible at trusting people as you are at respecting authority figures, aren’t you?"

"Is there a difference?"

"You tell me."

Before he could respond, gunfire tore through the room. “Down, now!” he shouted, and they dove to the floor. Wood and glass shattered around them, bullets ripped through fabric like it was nothing. Abigail tried to shield him, but Henry took advantage of his larger size and pinned her down, covering her body with his own. If anyone got hurt or killed by this unsub tonight, it would be him.

Something slammed into Henry’s shoulder, a searing and much too familiar jolt. He groaned and slumped on Abigail, and catalogued his injury as she repeated his name and demanded, “Are you okay?”

He nodded, and through gritted teeth, replied, “Minor injury. Had worse. Hurts, but I’ll live.” Four out of ten on his wreck of a pain scale, far from major organs, some numbness down left arm—possible nerve damage. Long recovery. Not fatal. Manageable.

"This was a bad idea," Abigail murmured. "Reece wanted to put you in a safe house like your roommate, but I insisted you’d be fine here, and—"

"It’ll be fine," he said, though he didn’t believe it. "We’ll be fine."

"Officers," she said. "There were supposed to be police officers guarding the doors downstairs. Where are they?"

He shushed her gently. “I’m sure they’ll be fine,” he lied. He had a good idea what had probably happened to them, and, if he knew her, so did she. “It’s all going to be okay.”

"I need my phone. Can you get to it without getting shot again? Or my gun?"

Both were on the coffee table, barely within reach of his injured arm. “I don’t—” A bullet hit the laptop, and the screen exploded, showering them with sparks and shards of plastic. “No, definitely not.”

Abigail swore. “I love you Henry, but if we get through this, I am gluing your phone to your face, understand?”

"You—what?"

Abigail kissed him.

Kissing while surrounded by gunfire probably wasn’t the best of ideas, but kisses of any kind were a rare luxury for him. Forcing away the pain, he gave in, closing his eyes and leaning into her touch. She didn’t kiss like this was their first or their last, but like this was familiar, like coming home. Her lips were soft against his own and smelled of delicate vanilla, a gentle counterpoint to the chaos around them as she stole the air from his lungs with perfect kindness, as she wordlessly assured him that everything would be fine, no matter what happened to them tonight.

God, it had been too long since anyone had touched him like this.

Something broke through the haze—he wasn’t sure what at first. Reluctantly, he pulled back, and he listened. The shooting had stopped. Silence descended over them, like nature holding its breath before a storm. He looked into Abigail’s eyes, and they waited, panting, her breath hot and damp against his face. Instead of more gunfire, there was the heavy thump of departing footsteps and the distant slam of the stairwell door. Through the fractured windows, sirens cried out, slowly growing in volume as they came closer.

"We need to get up," she said, her voice muffled by the ringing in his ears. "I need to see how badly you’ve been hurt."

"Not the first time I’ve been shot," he said, and tried to give her a reassuring smile. "Nor is it the worst."

"Right, because that is supposed to make me feel so much better." She rolled her eyes. "God, Jo was right—you are terrible at reassuring people. Your bedside manner must have been horrific."

"Yes, well—why do you think I left and joined the FBI?" He started to push himself upright, careful to avoid moving his injured shoulder, and immediately, the wound began throbbing. Letting out a string of rather creative curses, he fell backward onto the wrecked couch, sending the pain from a four to a seven. "Oh dear God," he groaned, "I never want to get shot again."

"You’re sure you’re going to survive?" Abigail got to her feet, and he nodded miserably. "In that case—" She paused and leaned down, and gently nudged his chin with her fingertips, "—maybe this will help."

She gave him a soft, brief kiss, both sweet and full of meaning, and stroked his cheek. “I need to make sure everything’s clear now and call Reece, okay?”

He nodded. “Of course.”

"Good." She stepped away and picked up her handgun and phone, and started toward the door. "Don’t move."

"I’m not going anywhere," he said. Hopefully, he thought, that wouldn’t change for a long time.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I've written so many Tumblr prompt fills and have cross-posted so few. Time to slooooowly change that.

**For:** toughbreaks  
**Prompt:**  Henry is immortal because he's a robot.

The fifth critical system failure in as many days, this time from a stab wound. Abe shook his head. “One of these days,” he grumbled, setting up his supplies at the kitchen table, “I’m not going to put you back together, Dad.”

He dug through his toolbox, pulling out all he needed for a basic repair. He’d almost run out of synthetic skin and needed more, but he had just enough fragments for a messy patch-up. If Henry wanted something more seamless in the meantime, he’d have to drag his metal and rubber butt to the shop himself.

A few hours later, the worst of the damage was fixed, and, finally, Abe was ready to reboot the system. “Here we go,” he muttered, and pressed the restart button on Henry’s chest.

* * *

**For:** anonymous  
**Prompt:**  Mortinez Prompt: 'Stop– wait a minute. Fill my cup, put some liquor in it'

“That is not how you should treat alcohol of this quality.”

“Sorry. I’ve had that song stuck in my head all day. I couldn’t help it.”

“That phrase is from a song? Wait, no, of course it is. Popular music has no respect for alcohol–or anything, for that matter…”

“One of these days, I am totally going to have to cuff you to the bed or something and make you listen to something fun, I swear to God…and, before you say anything,  _no_ , you won’t have any other kind of fun with the cuffs on, either. Now, I’ll say it again: ‘Fill my cup, put some liquor in it.’”

“Jo.”

“Henry. Cup, liquor in it, now.”

* * *

**For:** anonymous  
**Prompt:**  Henry gets scared when he's inside Jo's car, because when she turned it on, Metal music was blasting through the speakers.

Unholy screaming erupted from the speakers, and Henry nearly jumped out of his skin.

“Crap, sorry!” Jo smacked the button on the radio, turning it off. “Sorry.”

The car settled into silence, save for the thunderous pounding of his pulse in his ears. “Please pardon my language, Jo,” he said, clutching his chest, “but what the  _hell_  was that?”

“Sorry,” she repeated, ducking her head, shamefaced. “I forgot. I was in a bad mood this morning, and I guess I didn’t turn it off.” She shook her head. “So, not a fan of metal, are you?”

Henry gaped at her in horror as he tried to regain control of his breathing. Heavy metal. Of course it was. Usually that rubbish was muffled by a subway rider’s headphones, not assaulting his senses with an almost physical blow.

“No,” he replied, between deep, ragged breaths. “No, I am  _not_  a fan.”

But he had to give that dreadful “music” some credit—he was certainly awake now.

* * *

**For:** kythe42  
**Prompt:**  A Wizard of Oz AU with Jo as Dorthy and Henry as the Wizard?

The blue gingham dress hung in bloodstained tatters, and it reeked of sweat and flying monkeys. Blisters stung Jo’s feet, her toes and heels rubbed raw by the ostentatious ruby—or, more likely, rhinestone—slippers. Exhaustion threatened to overwhelm her, and yet she trudged onward, carrying her little terrier Mike in her arms, and leading an odd trio of individuals to see the Wizard again.

As soon as she stepped inside, the Wizard’s voice boomed around them, calling out, “Well done, Jo!” so loud he shook the walls. God, that smirk. She’d trade a thousand magic “ruby” slippers for one bucket of water, just to see if that bastard floating head that looked _exactly_  like Henry would melt like the not-so-immortal Wicked Warlock.

With her luck, though, it probably wouldn’t.

* * *

**For:** tsukana  
**Prompt:**  mortinez, au where both henry and jo are detectives?

“My question is,” Jo said, as they watched the paramedics load their suspect into the ambulance, “why the hell did you switch from being a doctor to a cop?”

Henry started to reply, but Jo held up a hand. “And don’t give me any of that ‘it’s a long story’ crap, either. We’re partners. You gotta trust me.”

“I know,” he said, and heaved a sigh. “And I do. But…”

But he could still remember hiding behind a car to die instead of tending to the other man who’d been shot. He could still imagine the look on Abigail’s face in her last moments, could still hear Abe railing about how a friend’s adult child’s murder had been ruled an accident, could still see poor Mary Kelly if he tried hard enough. Two hundred years worth of reasons piled up, one atop the other–being murdered by the captain of the  _Empress_ , Adam’s sadistic apathy on the telephone, Nora wielding a gun, countless people losing their lives to senseless violence when they were far too young to die.

So, he turned to Jo, and said, “I’m sorry, Jo, but it really  _is_  a long story.”

* * *

**For:** anonymous  
**Prompt:**  Jo and abe #13 for the prompt thingy - “Have you ever wanted to hate someone?”

“Have you ever wanted to hate someone?” Abe asked. “Because the Berkowitz brothers are perfect candidates. It’s like I’ve been telling Henry for years–those guys? I knew they’d get into some serious trouble one day. But I’ve gotta say, I didn’t think it’d be murder.” 

“They’re just suspects right now.” Jo picked up her cup and lifted it to her lips, and spared a brief thought of hiring Abe or Henry to make coffee for her full-time as she drank. “We still don’t have enough to charge them with anything.”

“You’re just as bad as Henry,” Abe said, and he huffed and crossed his arms. “You guys’ll find something. I’d almost bet on it.”

“We’ll see,” she said, then, “You know, I’d never realized the antiques business was so cutthroat.”  _Literally_  cutthroat, too. People killed for strange reasons, especially when alcohol was involved, but… “I mean, stabbing someone in the neck with a sword over a really ugly vase? That’s pretty extreme.”

“Jo, I’ve seen things that you wouldn’t believe. The lengths some of these guys go to get dibs on something priceless?” Abe shuddered. “There’s a lot I’ll do to get my hands on nice things, sure, but I have my limits–mainly no stealing and no killing people. Especially not over a fake.”

* * *

**For:** anonymous  
**Prompt:** 10, Henry  & James OR Wahgan - “I just want this.” I went with Henry/James

“You know something, Henry?” James said, carding his fingers through Henry’s hair, toying with the no doubt messy curls. “You are probably the strangest person I’ve ever met.”

“You have no idea,” Henry said, with a chuckle, and closed his eyes, enjoying James’s touch and the steady beat of James’s heart beneath his ear. Being touched like this, being held and cared for–even loved–was such a precious luxury. Loneliness had been his closest and most painful companion for years now. Having someone there to ease that hollow ache was something to be treasured. Treasure it he did.

“But you’re also the most brilliant. And whenever I try to understand you…” James trailed off. “You’re quite an intriguing puzzle, and the most confusing part is trying to figure out what someone like you would want with someone who is as dull as me.”

_This_ , Henry thought.  _I just want this._  “You’re a good man, James Carter,” Henry said, and pressed a kiss to James’s bare chest. “And you are anything but dull.”

* * *

**For:** anonymous  
**Prompt:**  Henry/Jo "Shh, c'mere..."

“Henry,” she says, keeping her voice gentle. He sits trembling beside her on the hotel bed, gasping, staring into the near darkness with huge, wild eyes. “Hey, Henry.” She dares to move closer, dares to lay a hand on his back. His skin is hot to the touch, damp with sweat, his muscles tight and heaving underneath. “It was just a dream.”

“No,” he says, shaking his head, insistent and frantic. “No, it’s not–they’re never just dreams. They’re never…” He chokes on his words, letting out a heartbreaking noise that’s almost a sob. “God, I’d love to have a simple nightmare, but I can’t. Memories, Jo. They’re always memories. Always.”

“Then that means they’ve already happened.” She sits up next to him, and she hesitantly moves even closer. “They’re over. You’re safe now. You’re okay.”

But his shaking doesn’t stop. His breathing doesn’t slow. Jo’s chest aches for him. No one deserves this, but especially not Henry. Flawed though he is, he’s still a good man with a kind heart. He shouldn’t have to struggle with so much fear.

Jo reaches out, urging Henry into her arms, saying, “Shh, c’mere,” as she pulls him into a hug. He goes willingly, a testament to his distress, and buries his face against her shoulder.

“You’re okay,” she repeats, rubbing his back. “Henry, you’re okay. Nothing bad’s gonna happen to you tonight. My gun’s right here on the table, and if anyone tries to do anything, I’ll use it. I’m not going to let anyone hurt you.”

She’s not sure how long they stay like this–him shivering and terrified, her stroking his back and murmuring soothing words. “I’ve got you,” she tells him. It’s a promise. She’ll hold him together for as long as it takes. “It’s gonna be okay. I’ll protect you. Henry, you’re safe.”

Her words must finally get through. Henry exhales, and his body sags against hers. “Thank you, Jo,” he whispers, and wraps his arms around her. “Thank you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you want to read the other things and don't want to wait for me to x-post them here, check my [fics](http://argylepiratewd.tumblr.com/fics) page or my [#ficever](http://argylepiratewd.tumblr.com/tagged/ficever) tag, both on Tumblr.


	6. 5 Sentence Ficlets

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> People on Tumblr gave me a first sentence, and I wrote 5 more sentences

**For:** anonymous  
**Prompt:** "She imagines him, small and sad, curled up on the sofa in his house coat and knows she needs to go back."

She imagines him, small and sad, curled up on the sofa in his house coat and knows she needs to go back.

But her feet refuse to move. People keep going, running into her on the crowded sidewalk, oblivious, not noticing her or the voice in her head saying, “Jo, please, don’t leave.” She wants to go back, needs to go back, but she’s frozen in place, unable to will her body to cooperate.

Then a hand’s on her shoulder, gentle and tentative, and everything makes sense again. “I’m so sorry,” Henry says, and Jo turns and wraps her arms around him.

**Version Two:**

She imagines him, small and sad, curled up on the sofa in his house coat and knows she needs to go back. 

He tried to leave her like this once, tried to end everything they had with only a letter, and she’d told him the ending didn’t matter, that life was “about the journey.” Perhaps the end didn’t matter back then, not when the end of their journey was years away, but her journey won’t last much longer. For now, she’s healthy, albeit tired, but time moves so quickly, and Abigail already feels so old. She keeps going.

Henry won’t understand, but he will forgive.

* * *

**For:** vivid-escapist  
**Prompt:**  “You know, Henry.” Jo turned to glare at her companion. “You are the absolute last person I would have expected to drag us into this.”

“You know, Henry.” Jo turned to glare at her companion. “You are the absolute last person I would have expected to drag us into this.”

“I did warn you,” he said, and, God, she wanted to punch that smirk off his paint-covered face. “It’s not my fault you didn’t believe me.”

“You told me you didn’t like modern art!”

“I hardly call flinging paint about ‘art,’” he retorted, earning a glare from the artist. “But whether you think of it as art or not, she’s not going to be doing much more of it after you arrest her.”

* * *

**For:** anonymous  
**Prompt:**  Jo didn’t mean to say I love you to Henry, it just slipped out.

Jo didn’t mean to say I love you to Henry, it just slipped out.

Immediately, she clamped her mouth shut, and told herself she didn’t see the flare of hope in Henry’s eyes. “Can we just…forget I said that, please?”

Hurt flashed across Henry’s face, only to become a forced grin as he replied, “Of course. It never happened.”

If only that were true.

* * *

**For:** anonymous  
**Prompt:**  “I need a hug or an orgasm.” Jo mumbled into her glass of scotch, and Henry immediately glanced up from his.

“I need a hug or an orgasm.” Jo mumbled into her glass of scotch, and Henry immediately glanced up from his.

For a moment, he stared at her, and she stared back, silently daring him to comment. Then, he took a sip of his drink and said, “Is this–and, please, do forgive me if I’m being out of line here–is this just conversation, or…”

“I need a hug or an orgasm,” she repeated. “It’s not exactly rocket science, Henry.”

“Well, then,” he said, “would you like me to make you an offer?”

* * *

**For:** anonymous  
**Prompt:** Abigail Morgan was dead

Abigail Morgan was dead. That was her real name: Abigail Morgan. You file the information away in your mind, you search the bedroom for more clues, you take your time. You need to know the name of the man in the picture, you  _must_  know, but tearing the tiny house apart will yield nothing but disappointment. So you sift through her belongings with care, with patience–what’s a few more minutes of waiting when you’re this close to never being alone again?

Finally, you find a letter, sticking ever-so-slightly from between the pages of a book–a letter to a man named Henry. And you smile.

* * *

**For:** kayquimi  
**Prompt:**  “I didn’t know you were going to be here.” 

“I didn’t know you were going to be here,” Abe said, cornering Henry near the restrooms. “You said you guys were apprehending your suspect tonight. That better not’ve been some lousy excuse for spying on me and my date, or–what the hell?”

Henry looked back toward the dining area, where Jo approached an elegant woman with flowing silver hair and a sharp expression, and he gave Abe’s shoulder an apologetic squeeze when Jo held up her handcuffs. “I’m sorry, Abe, but we found evidence that shows that Mrs. Williams likely poisoned her recently-deceased husband, and possibly her previous three as well. So, unfortunately, your date  _is_  our suspect.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you want to read the other things and don't want to wait for me to x-post them here, check my [fics](http://argylepiratewd.tumblr.com/fics) page or my [#ficever](http://argylepiratewd.tumblr.com/tagged/ficever) tag, both on Tumblr.


	7. Chapter 7

**For:** anonymous  
**Prompt:**  3 and Wahgan? - 3. Drunk

Henry coaxed Lucas into his arms–though Lucas didn’t need much coaxing–and pulled him close to his side. “What’s the matter?” he asked, and kissed Lucas’s damp cheek.

“That!” Lucas sniffled, and pointed emphatically at the TV.

Henry tilted his head, puzzled. Onscreen was the still image of a blond haired woman and man kissing, most likely in the midst of getting their “happily ever after” before the credits rolled. “I don’t understand,” he said. “Should I be saying ‘I’m sorry?’”

“No!” Lucas whined. “No, see? See, they’re  _perfect!_  And it’s beautiful! And wonderful!”

Realization began to dawn on Henry, and he rolled his eyes. “You called me over here at two in the morning, weeping–no, seemingly _inconsolable_ –over the  _happy_  ending to some film?”

Lucas went quiet. Then, slowly, he drew back, and glared drunkenly at Henry. “ _The Princess Bride_  is not just ‘some film.’ I-it’s funny, and it’s beautiful, and it’s funny, and, and there’s action and true love and miracles and funniness and…” He broke off with a frustrated groan, and Henry drew back, dodging the odor of alcohol on Lucas’s breath. “I don’t know why I put up with you, Henry Morgan. I don’t. You–you–”

“Will watch the movie with you when you’re sober,” Henry insisted, pressing a finger to Lucas’s lips, silencing him. “But please, I beg you: Don’t do this again.”

* * *

**For:** celticarche  
**Prompt:**  Lucas/ Henry. Bakery.

“Next time we get a big order like this,” Lucas said, as he moved on to prepare the next delicate pastry, “please don’t get shot in the arm again, okay? You’re a baker, not, like, a cop or something.”

“You’re filling my shoes quite well,” Henry said, leaning in for a closer look. “Excellent work. And next time someone decides to shoot me, I’ll be sure to politely request they aim for the leg instead.”

* * *

**For:** toughbreaks  
**Prompt:** Henry Morgan, pirate.

Henry slammed the door, stalked into the room, and threw himself down in his chair. “Abraham, am I ever going to convince people that I am a different Captain Henry Morgan?”

“Considering that you share the same name, you’re both pirates, and you’re both supposed to be dead? I highly doubt it.”

* * *

**For:** athenasdragon  
**Prompts:**  Mortinez, coffee shop au and/or wahgon wheels, Hogwarts au (for the 3-sentence fic thing) :-)

That damn smirking ME who comes in every morning slips a note across the counter one day as she’s counting out his change.  _You’re not really a barista, are you, Detective?_

Jo keeps her expression neutral as she says, “I have no idea what you’re talking about, Dr. Morgan,” while silently begging the guy not to blow her cover,  _please_.

“Don’t worry,” he whispers, accepting his change and then picking up his cup and his note. “We all have our secrets. Yours is safe with me.”

 **And, the Wahgan Hogwarts AU:**  

For six years, Lucas has been asking the same question: “Seriously, how did an idiot like me end up in Ravenclaw?”

“Because you are a lot smarter than you think you are,” replies Henry Morgan, the seventh year who’s the coolest wizard in the history of forever–cooler than  _Harry freaking Potter_ , even, and Harry Potter’s pretty darn cool. “I promise.”

“Huh,” Lucas says, and beams, because if Henry says it, it must be true. “Thanks.”

* * *

**For:** projectssss  
**Prompt:**  Lucas and Henry, either Forever Z, or if you haven't read that, in space!au. - I went with the space AU

“Took you long enough to drag yourself out here, Doc,” Lucas says, as he helps Henry carry his luggage into the house. “Seriously, I’ve been telling you to come for, like, a hundred years…”

“I’m a creature of habit,” Henry says, absently, and adjusts his scarf against the chill, salt-tinged breeze as he looks up at the sky and tries to wrap his mind around the familiar aspects of this strange, new world. “I quite liked Earth. New York. London. All of it.”

But after four hundred years, life on Earth had become far too painful, filled with so many memories that Henry’d found himself slipping deeper and deeper into apathy and alcohol to escape. Unless he wanted to end up like Adam, something had to change. Since Lucas was always looking for a roommate, and since Jo kept complaining that her partners were never as good at helping her solve murders as him, Henry’d finally given in and left the planet.

Now, Henry’s eyes skim over the amber glow of the twin moons, follow the sprawling paths of strange constellations and passing starships. He takes in the beauty of the unfamiliar, and he bounces on his heels, and smiles so wide his cheeks ache. “It was time for a fresh start, though,” he says, and realizes that, for the first time in well over a century, he’s excited.

“Not too fresh for your old friends, though, right?” Lucas asks, a hint of insecurity in his voice.

Henry turns to him, still beaming. “Never,” he replies, and lets Lucas pull him into a crushing hug.

* * *

**For:** kayquimi  
**Prompt:**  oooh, 3-sentence meme~ uh.... Henry & Abe, space pirates!

“… _Drink up, me hearties, yo ho! Yo ho, yo ho–_ ”

“Abraham,  _please_ stop singing _._ ” Henry rubbed his temples, trying to chase away the ghastly throbbing inside his head, then went back to reading their coordinates on the computer. “I have a headache, I’m exhausted, we are not those sorts of pirates,  _and_  that song wasn’t an actual sea shanty. It was written for the Pirates of the Caribbean theme park ride in the late 1960′s, and–”

“Oh my God,” Abe grumbled, and Henry almost heard the accompanying eyeroll. “You do remember I was alive back then, too, right, Pops? That I actually went on those rides a few times? That I saw the movies in theaters back when you were still the biggest technophobe in the universe? That–”

An alarm blared, the noise stabbing Henry through the skull, and Abe spat out, “Shit,” and slipped on his glasses, then snatched the touchscreen from Henry’s hands and traced his finger across the screen in several short, rapid strokes.

“Please tell me it isn’t a real emergency,” Henry whined.

After a moment, Abe said, “‘Fraid I can’t do that,” and pointed at the outline of a ship on the computer screen. “See that? Looks like–”

“Adam,” Henry finished, darkly, and jumped out of his seat, his headache and fatigue forgotten.  _Shit_  indeed. “I’m off to the cockpit to help Jo. You get on the radio and tell everyone to ready themselves to fight.”

“Aye-aye, Captain Morgan,” Abe said, with a terrible pirate accent and a mock salute. Henry crossed his arms and glared, and Abe gave him an innocent look. “What?”

* * *

**For:** kayquimi  
**Prompt:**  oooh, have you done a hogwarts au yet? henry/jo or henry/adam

“‘Practically a squib,’ Henry?” Adam emerged from the shadows of the Hogwarts infirmary, shaking his head. “That’s one lie of yours that I don’t understand.”

Henry’s gaze darted around the infirmary, searching for a way out, but there would be too many sleeping children in harm’s way if he tried to escape. “Whatever you’re planning, please, leave the children out of it. Don’t hurt them.”

“I have no interest in your children.” Adam took another step toward Henry, and another, predatory and slow. “Just you, the only other person I’ve ever known who’s done what Tom Riddle couldn’t: achieved true immortality.”

Henry opened his mouth to protest, but Adam didn’t give him the chance. “I know, I know–neither of us chose this life, this…condition. But it is what it is. So, why do you waste your talents and your power on–” He waved a hand. “–all of this, on healing the ungrateful and denying your true abilities, when you could be taking advantage of our skills  _and_  our curse?”

Through clenched teeth, Henry said, “I like my life as it is, thank you.”

“Of course you do.” Adam rolled his eyes. “You are as naive as these children you pointlessly seek to protect. But there’s something you haven’t realized yet.” Adam pressed the tip of his wand to Henry’s throat, leaned in close, murmured, “You don’t have to be my Harry Potter, Henry,” against Henry’s ear. Henry forced himself not to flinch. “We’re the most powerful wizards the world has ever seen. Together, we could accomplish some truly incredible things.”

“All I’m interested in accomplishing right now is making you leave.” Preferably for good, but that was unlikely. “I don’t want power, or-or world domination, or whatever it is you’re seeking. I just want to live my life, for however long it lasts.”

“Henry.” Adam sighed. “You never cease to disappoint me. You could have so much more. You could  _be_  so much more.”

“And yet I still choose this,” Henry said, pushing Adam’s wand away and moving aside. “Goodbye, Adam. I trust you can find your way out.”

As he headed toward his office, Henry expected to be hit with the familiar green of avada kedavra. It didn’t come. Instead, he heard a whisper of movement, and when he looked over his shoulder, Adam was gone.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> These are a bit more mature than some of the others I've posted (though not explicit). If that's not your thing, you might want to skip this batch.

**For:** anonymous  
**Prompt:** #4. Jo/Molly - "I'm flirting with you"

“You’re very attractive, Detective Martinez,” Molly said, and took a sip of her drink—scotch, like Jo’s, only a little more expensive. “Why can’t you believe I’m flirting with you because you’re you?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Jo replied. “Maybe because you weren’t that into me before?”

“I’m capable of being interested in more than one person at once.” Molly laughed. “I also had a pretty good idea which one of you would respond to my advances and which one of you wouldn’t.” With a smirk, she trailed a finger down Jo’s wrist, idly following the lines of veins over her sensitive skin, her pounding pulse. “Doesn’t mean I wasn’t into you, too.”

Jo swallowed hard, and drew in a shaky breath. “This is insane,” Jo said, voice ragged, and tried to ignore the heat coiling deep and red hot in her belly. The warmth of the bar was getting to her, or maybe the faint buzz of alcohol in her blood, not the softness of Molly’s skin sliding ever so slowly over her own, not the heady scent of Molly’s perfume, not  _Molly_. She didn’t want Molly…did she? “This is completely insane.”

“You’re not wrong.” Molly leaned in, so close her breath caressed Jo’s lips, and she looked at Jo with lust-dark eyes. “But this isn’t wrong, either.”

“No, it’s not,” Jo replied, and closed the gap between them.

* * *

**For:** anonymous  
**Prompt:**  “I just want this.” mortinez - This one gets a little heated toward the end (more than the one above), so if that's not your thing, might

“I just want this creep in custody,” Jo said, flopping down on the massive hotel bed. “Is that really too much to ask?”

Untying his tie, Henry asked, “Getting tired of my company are we, Jo?” with a teasing grin.

Jo scowled, and she huffed and kicked off her heels. “Getting tired of all this,” she replied, gesturing at her shimmering black gown. “The fake names, the stupid dresses, the shoes, the egos…” A once-perfect curl fell across her face—who knew Henry could add “hairdresser” to his impressive resume if he wanted?—and she blew at it. “I swear, I am dying for a beer and some wings—the cheaper the better.”

Henry’s reflection wrinkled his nose. “I don’t understand how you can eat those things.” He unbuttoned his black waistcoat, and began to fold it with obnoxious precision. “When you forced me to try one of them, I felt as though it would burn a hole through my stomach wall, in spite of the unlikelihood of such a thing.”

“What?” Jo laughed. “Can’t handle the heat?”

Henry rolled his eyes. “I am perfectly fine with capsaicin, thank you. I just found the whole combination of flavors and excessive grease rather unappealing.”

“More for me then, you baby.” Jo turned over, and, to hell with modesty, began to unzip her dress. She didn’t have anything Henry hadn’t seen before, and the tight dress needed to come  _off_  before she went crazy. If the two of them changing into their pajamas in front of each other offended his weird sense of propriety, well, that was his problem.

Halfway down, the zipper caught on the delicate fabric, and she tugged on it. It didn’t budge. “Dammit.”

“Something wrong?” Henry asked, glancing over his shoulder.

“Uh…” Jo tried pulling the zipper up, instead of down. Didn’t work. “Yeah.” Irritated, she yanked at it, again and again, half-hoping for a satisfying rip, to no avail. “This damn thing’s stuck.”

“Don’t do that,” Henry admonished, “you’ll tear it.”

“That’s kind of the idea.”

Henry chuckled, and he came over and knelt on the bed. “Do you mind if I…”

She dropped her hands to the bed, and heaved a sigh. “Go for it.”

“Right.” He placed a hand upon her back, holding the fabric taut, and began gently moving the stuck zipper. For once, he was quiet, his concentration entirely on fixing the gown, and Jo pillowed her head on folded arms and closed her eyes.

In the near silence, she listened to him breathe, listened to the faint rustle of his fingers against smooth satin. Gentle heat radiated from the palm lying on her back, comforting and steady, grounding her. She caught herself breathing along with him, taking in the fading scent of his cologne with every inhale, releasing a little more tension with each exhale. It was nice.

His fingertips accidentally brushed her bare skin, a small jolt that reverberated throughout her body, and she let out a quiet gasp.

“Sorry,” Henry said.

“’s okay.” Though his fingers had moved back over the fabric, the memory of their touch lingered, leading her mind in another direction. She wondered how it’d feel if he touched her in earnest, if he deliberately traced the dip of her spine, the jut of her shoulderblades, the curve of her ass. What would it be like if she turned over and he laid atop her, teased her hard nipples through her dress, trailed featherlight kisses across her breasts, slipped a hand up her long, long skirt…

 _No_ , she told herself. This was Henry. She wasn’t going to cross that line. He meant too much to her.

“And…there,” he said, suddenly, derailing that line of thought, and he slid the zipper down. “All done.”

* * *

**For:** anonymous  
**Prompt:**  The night Henry knocks on Jo's door ('I thought you might need some company'), a man answers, and a lingeried up Jo appears behind him in full view before she realizes it's Henry.

When he knocked on Jo’s door, Henry didn’t expect a man to answer.

Without needing to ask, Henry knew why the man was there. He smelled the liquor on the man’s breath, easily recognized the post-coital stupor and the darkening bite marks on the man’s chest. Remembered the soul-crushing ache that had left him waking up with strangers when his entire being craved Abigail’s absent touch, the nights spent drowning in alcohol and the scents of unfamiliar perfume or cologne, the heavy weight of regret the morning after.

He wished he’d arrived sooner. Perhaps he could have spared her from seeking this false, painful remedy again.

“Sorry to disturb you,” Henry said, to Jo’s guest. “I was in the area, and I thought I’d pay Jo a visit.”

“Who is it?” Jo called out, from out of sight, and Henry heard the sound of approaching footsteps.

“Some guy,” the man replied, as Jo stepped into view. “Said he’s here to see y—”

“Henry?” Jo’s mouth fell open. “What…” Shaking off her surprise, she wrapped her arms around herself, clearly trying to hide what her slinky, black chemise couldn’t. “Hi. What are you doing here?”

Beautiful though Jo was, Henry could see only her vulnerability and pain when he looked at her exposed skin, not her appearance. So, he met her eyes, and, with a soft smile, he said, “I thought you might need some company.”

“I…” Jo looked toward her guest, as though seeing him for the first time, and she bit her lip and took a step back. The other man didn’t seem to notice, but Henry did not miss the shame and indecision at war on her face as she glanced between the two of them.

No, Henry was no stranger to those feelings.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all the kudos and comments and stuff, you lovely, lovely peeps. ♥ I really appreciate them. :D


	9. Chapter 9

**For:** jo-martinez  
**Prompt:**  Henry and Jo/Lucas go out of town for something case-related. Their returning flight gets delayed, and because of the storm, most people just sleep in the airport. So Henry and Jo/Lucas go find a wall to lean against and fall asleep in each others arms. B)

No matter how hard he tried, Henry couldn’t sleep.

God, he hated airports.

At the best of times, Henry found them quite nerve-wracking. The invasive scans, the hours spent mentally crossing his fingers in hopes that his forged identity would hold up with the authorities, the discomfort of being in such close quarters with so many equally-stressed people and having to stay—he loathed it all.

Having to spend the night in one due to a canceled flight was an adventure he’d not wanted to endure. Thanks to a raging thunderstorm, however, that had become his reality. Quietly, he swore.

“You okay, boss?” Lucas mumbled.

“Quite all right, thank you,” Henry replied, with forced levity. “Go back to sleep.”

Caught up in a yawn, Lucas said, “Okay.” Then, he was out again, with his head on Henry’s shoulder, seemingly not considering the stiff neck that would be the likely result.

On Henry’s other side, Jo shifted restlessly, and she murmured something indecipherable that ended in “e,” or perhaps “y” or “i.” Henry rubbed her back, and she let out a happy little hum and buried her face against his chest, curling up even tighter in her chair. He placed a soft, gentle kiss on top of her head, then rested his chin where he’d kissed, and he stared out the window.

Lightning struck somewhere in the distance, and Henry shuddered. He wasn’t especially fond of thunderstorms, either. Watching the heavy rain pour down in sheets on the slick, wet tarmac held little appeal to him, but what else was there for him to do? Insomnia held him firmly in his clutches, though whether from anxiety, caffeine, or the lingering rush of solving a difficult case, Henry wasn’t sure.

Certainly, though, it wasn’t the chair. Contrary to the beliefs Jo and Lucas had expressed earlier, he was more than capable of falling asleep in uncomfortable conditions, thank you. In fact, an airport chair was a luxury compared to some of the places he’d slept throughout the years. He was warm, he was dry, he wasn’t lying in filth (never mind the many pathogens that probably covered every surface of the airport), his stomach was mostly full, and he was nestled between two people he’d grown exceedingly fond of recently—and being used as their pillow, no less.

This wasn’t luxury; this was far better. It meant that in spite of his repeated attempts to push everyone away, Henry had somehow found two people who were comfortable enough in his presence to fall asleep against him without asking his permission.

The idea of Jo and Lucas being absolutely certain that permission  _would_  be granted made him smile. They trusted that he’d help them get comfortable, that they’d be safe enough with him to close their eyes. Henry could think of few things that left people more vulnerable than sleep. Spending hours unaware of the rest of the world required a significant deal of trust in the surrounding situation; spending hours pressed up against another human being required so much more.

Though he had his many secrets—literally  _centuries_  of secrets—he felt confident that they could trust him with this. Friends, family, or otherwise, Henry did not care for anyone halfway. Perhaps that would be his downfall one day. Perhaps not. Most likely, though, he would not meet that downfall within the next few hours, so, for once, he decided not to worry. He’d have more than enough time for that later.

Instead, Henry decided to close his eyes.

* * *

**For:** anonymous  
**Prompt:**  jo's pregnant. whether it's henry's or not is up to you, but she really needs him right now

With the volume on her phone turned as high as it would go, Henry’s office was an oasis of music in the unsettling quiet of the morgue. The whole floor was empty, save for the two of them and a few security guards. Usually, she wasn’t there so late, but around one, realization hit like a fist to the face, and by two, she knew she couldn’t ignore it. Or deal with it alone.

So, she’d driven to the antiques store, still clad in her pajamas, and when she pulled up outside, she called Henry.

Once she’d gotten through the apologies for calling so late and had let him know she was downstairs, she’d barely been able to force out the words she wanted. Not on the phone.

Without hesitation, he’d gone out to meet her, haphazardly dressed in an unbuttoned coat, and he’d wrapped her in his arms.

“Take your time,” he’d told her, as she choked on everything she tried to say, then kissed the top of her head. “I’ll be here.”

Finally, she’d managed to say, “I think I might be pregnant,” her voice barely over a whisper.

After a few seconds of silence, he’d replied, “Would you like to know if you are?”

When she’d told him that she would, he offered to run some tests for her. “Blood tests are more precise than those you can buy at a store,” he’d explained, getting into her car. “And before you apologize again, please—it’s no trouble at all.”

Later, in his office, she curled up around herself in his chair, and leaned her head against the soft, padded back. It smelled like Henry, like fine cologne and shampoo and the unique scent of his skin, blended incongruously with the harsh disinfectants used in the morgue. Her heart ached with affection for him, her closest, dearest friend. Comforting, familiar, wonderful Henry, who’d greeted her with a kind smile instead of judgment, who hadn’t asked her a single awkward question since he’d answered the telephone, who for once seemed to understand her intense need for his silence while in the car and after.

Who stepped into his office, carrying some papers and wearing a grim expression on his tired face. She turned off her music, and she held her breath.

“I have the results,” he told her, quietly, as he sat in one of the chairs across from her. “And it looks like you are pregnant.”

The world came to an abrupt halt. “I’m…are you sure?” she said, voice trembling.

He nodded. “I’m afraid so. I can draw some more blood, see if I get something different, but it’s unlikely.” Leaning forward, he started to speak again, “Jo, I—”

She shook her head. “Henry, please. Just…give me a minute, okay?”

With another nod, he said, “Of course,” and settled back in place.

Her eyes burned, and she clenched her fists, digging her nails deep into her palms and trying to focus on that pain. She didn’t want to cry. God, she already felt like a stereotype—the last thing she wanted was to add “weepy pregnant woman” to “one-night-stand horror story.”

Even though she was closer to them, Henry nudged a box of tissues toward her. She expected him to comment as she pulled one from the box, but he didn’t. To her surprise, she was disappointed. “Wait,” she said, wiping her eyes. “You’ve never listened when I’ve told you to be quiet before, but suddenly you are now?”

“Ah, yes. I felt as though this situation was too new to you for me to begin offering any input.” Henry shrugged. “Also, matters of pregnancy are not a man’s domain. I thought it best to let you be the one to guide any conversation, rather than inundate you with most-likely unwanted advice from my inexperienced perspective. But—” He reached across the desk, offering his hand, “—I want you to know that I will always,  _always_  be here for you, no matter what, and that I am more than willing to offer you whatever you may need.”

She stared at his hand, biting her lip. What did she need? God, she had no idea what to do now. How the hell was she supposed to know?

As though reading her mind, Henry added, “You don’t have to have anything figured out yet, Jo. I promise.”

“Good,” she said, and she swallowed, and placed her hand in his. “That’s…good. Because I don’t. Have anything figured out, I mean. Or even know what I need right now. I—God. I never thought…I mean, I’m always careful…”

“Birth control is not a hundred percent effective,” he said, gently, and began stroking the back of her hand with his thumb. “I’ve no doubt you did your best.”

“Looks like that wasn’t enough,” she said, and she looked away. “I seriously don’t know what to do now. I…”

He shushed her. “You don’t have to. But would you like my professional opinion?”

“Yeah.” She nodded, and let out a mirthless chuckle. “I need somewhere to go from here.”

“Very well: Sleep. That’s where I think you should go from here.”

Sleep? That sounded impossible. She thought of returning to her empty house and her empty bed, of her mind spinning in endless circles, of all the questions and fears and regrets and everything else that had already kept her brain running at full speed since she’d woken up sick for the twelfth night in a row. The word “pregnant” rang in her ears. Pregnant. She was pregnant. And she’d be carrying some other guy’s kid with her into the house she’d shared with Sean, when she’d never been ready to start a family with him. Carrying that unborn kid inside her in their fucking bed…

“I don’t think I can do that,” she said, and clutched at the ring on her necklace.

Henry seemed to understand. With a sympathetic expression, he said, “You can come spend the rest of the night at the shop with Abe and me—and for as long as you need—if you’d rather do that. I assure you, you won’t be disturbing either of us, and I won’t tell him about what you’re going through unless you want me to. Would that be all right?”

Jo considered the idea. Being away from the loneliness and the guilt of her echoing house sounded…nice. And if she wanted Henry to stay by her side and talk to her, instead of sleeping, she knew he would. If she asked him to hold her, he’d open his arms. If she changed her mind and decided to head home, he wouldn’t protest.

“That’d be great,” she said. “Thank you.”


End file.
